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My first job was working in an orange juice factory, but I got canned… couldn’t concentrate.
Then I worked in the woods as a lumberjack, but I just couldn’t hack it, so they gave me the ax.
After that I tried to be a tailor, but I just wasn’t suited for it …mainly because it was a so-so job.
Next I tried working in a muffler factory but that was too exhausting.
Then I tried to be a chef — figured it would add a little spice too my life but I just didn’t have the thyme.
I attempted to be a deli worker, but any way I sliced it, I couldn’t cut the mustard.
My best job was being a musician, but eventually I found I wasn’t noteworthy.
I studied a long time to become a doctor, but I didn’t have any patience.
Next was a job in a shoe factory; I tried but I just didn’t fit in.
I became a professional fisherman, but discovered that I couldn’t live on my net income.
I managed to get a good job working for a pool maintenance company, but the work was just too draining.
So then I got a job in a workout center, but they said I wasn’t fit for the job.
After many years of trying to find steady work I finally got a job as a historian until I realized there was no future in it.
My last job was working at Starbucks, but I had to quit because it was always the same old grind.
SO I RETIRED AND I FOUND I AM PERFECT FOR THE JOB!

A nice young Post Office worker was sorting through her regular mail when she discovered a letter addressed as follows:
GOD, c/o Heaven.
Upon opening the envelope, the enclosed letter told about a little old lady who had never asked for anything in her life. She was desperately in need of $100 and was wondering if God could send her the money.
The young lady was deeply touched, and passed the hat among her work mates. She managed to collect $90, and she sent it off to the old lady.
A few weeks later another letter arrived addressed in the same way to God, so the young lady opened it. The letter read,
“Thank you for the money, God, I deeply appreciate it. However, I received only $90. It must have been those jerks at the post office!”

Two old women were sitting on the bench talking, when one asked the other, “How’s your Paddy holding up in bed these days?”

The second old lady replied, “He makes me feel like an exercise bike.”

“How’s that?”

“He climbs on and starts pumping away but we never get anywhere!”

* Pair of edible Depends found on bedroom floor.

* Lately, at night, they put their teeth in the same glass.

* Grandpa grabs his crotch and complains loudly of “denture-burn.”

* Granny found handcuffed to her walker.

* Not only do you hear the bed squeaking, but also joints.

* Grandma regularly looks at Grandpa’s crotch and claps twice.

* Your “Grandma” is Anna Nicole Smith.

* You’ve just seen their photos in the “Beaver Hunt” section of the May issue of Hustler.

* Grandmother starts baking Viagra-chip cookies.

* Kraft-matic adjustable bed set for “doggy style.”

There’s nothing the matter with me,
I’m just as healthy as can be,
I have arthritis in both knees,

And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak, my blood is thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

All my teeth have had to come out,
And my diet I hate to think about.

I’m overweight and I can’t get thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

And arch supports I need for my feet.
Or I wouldn’t be able to go out in the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night,

But every morning I find I’m all right.
My memory’s failing, my head’s in a spin.
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

Old age is golden – I’ve heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder, as I go to bed.
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,

And my glasses on a shelf, until I get up.
And when sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself,
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?

The reason I know my youth has been spent,
Is my get-up-and-go has got-up-and-went!

But really I don’t mind, when I think with a grin,
Of all the places my get-up has been.

I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Pick up the paper and read the obits.

If my name is missing, I’m therefore not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and jump back into bed.

The moral of this tale unfolds,
Telling you and me, who are growing old.

It is better to say “I’m fine” with a grin,
Than to let people know the shape we are in.



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